


This Is It

by lunarlychallenged



Series: Don Quixote [1]
Category: Maniac (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 18:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: “For neither good nor evil can last for ever; and so it follows that as evil has lasted a long time, good must now be close at hand.”Annie and Owen are going to Salt Lake City.  How hard can it be to drive 32 hours?





	This Is It

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I know that the chow's creators said that Annie and Owen don't end up together romantically. I get it, and I don't own the show or the characters, so there's no changing that. However, I do own this story, and I think that they could fall in love later. I stand by that.

“Wanna know something funny?”

Owen looked at her, still clutching the dog like a lifeline. “What?”

“I don’t actually know the way to Salt Lake City.” Annie grinned at the road, still a little manic with post-crime delight.

“Are you serious?”

She shrugged. “This was all a little spur of the moment. I stole a truck. I stole a looney from the bin. I didn’t think to steal a map.”

His smile had simmered down to a glow, but there was enough adrenaline left for him to huff out a laugh. “That sounds about right. Might as well happen, right?”

“Might as well,” she echoed. “How do you feel about a little blind driving?”

Owen could not possibly care less. He didn’t care where they went, or how they got there. Annie was there. Owen was free. They had, for whatever reason, a wiry little dog. He had no clothes, no money, no nothing, but he had a friend.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those.

“What’s in Salt Lake City?”

“Ellie,” Annie said quietly. “That’s where we were going.”

Owen nodded. “So, once we get there—”

“We’ll just live.”

Maybe Owen had low standards, but just living sounded like a luxury he had never been able to afford.

 

 

Owen grabbed a bag of Chex Mix.

“You’re better than that, Owen,” Annie said. She’d grabbed a tin of Pringles, three Snickers, and filled a cup with every Slurpee flavor. Sandwiched between the snacks were a map and a disposable camera. “This is a road trip—live a little.”

He perused the aisle again, painfully aware of her watchful gaze. In the end, he returned with Flaming Hot Cheetos, a Pepsi, and a bright blue t-shirt proclaiming the wonders of Pittsburg.

Annie raised an eyebrow at the shirt.

“I can’t wear this turtleneck anymore,” he said. “I can’t breathe.”

“I’m sure blue is your color,” she said, and paid for everything.

 

 

Owen wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like this song.”

Annie turned up the radio and belted the lyrics.

Owen liked the song more on her than on whoever wrote it.

 

 

“Almost there,” she hummed.

“Almost where?” When the car stopped, Owen looked around for something—anything—to explain their break. No buildings. No tourist traps. No parking lots. Just a nice clearing, with mountains and clouds and quiet.

“I’ve been here before,” she told him. “On a different trip.”

“It’s nice,” he said, and it was. He’d never been great at admiring scenery, but it was easier now that he was out of the city. “What are we stopping for?”

“A picture.”

Annie wanted way too many—pictures of him with the mountains, pictures of her with the mountains, pictures of the scenery alone, pictures of them together. It was like the opposite of his entire childhood, when he was the least important child to photograph.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” he commented. 

“I’m not,” she said shortly. “I just want to remember.”

She took another picture with him when they were back in the car, and it seemed like she was taking the whole thing pretty seriously for somebody who didn’t care about photography.

 

 

She was healthy Annie now.

Yeah, fat chance of that. She didn’t feel healthy; she felt bloated and tired and like she had to pee. She didn’t have to pee, and she knew it, but she was painfully aware of every physical sensation.

If something didn’t happen soon, she was going to lose her mind.

“Owen, I need you to read to me.”

He blinked owlishly at her. “What?”

“I’m tired,” she said. “You can’t drive. I don’t want to stop. That leaves it to you to keep me awake.”

“Oh. Yeah, totally. Do you have a book here, or something?”

“Check the backseat.”

When he resurfaced, it was with her copy of Don Quixote. “This?”

“That’s the one,” she said. She’d been planning to read it for years, since before Ellie died, even, but had never gotten around to it. It had become more of a symbol that anything. The Annie that read this book was the Annie that she wanted to be.

To be fair, even the hick 80s version of her had been able to at least start it. If that wasn’t a sign to tear into it, she didn’t know what was.

“This book is really long,” he said doubtfully.

“So’s the drive.”

“‘Somewhere in La Mancha,’” Owen began, “‘in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.’ God, it’s going to be one of those books.”

“Unless you have something better to keep me awake—”

“Fine,” he said in a low voice, and continued.

 

 

“I can’t believe I bought a dog before driving across the country,” she said.

Harpo sniffed at a patch of grass that had absolutely nothing interesting going on.

“You are a huge pain,” she said.

Harpo raised his leg to pee for a half second, then moved on.

“We can’t stay in half of the motels we find because they don’t allow pets.”

Harpo ignored her.

“You like Owen more than me, you little traitor.”

Annie scooped the dog up, kissed his head, and walked him back to the truck.

 

 

Owen hadn’t had much fast food as a kid. His parents could have afforded to eat out all the time, but they thought they were better than thin burger patties and pizza that dripped grease. By the time he was older, with his own place and the cash to buy his own meals, he didn’t bother eating much of anything.

His doctor said that paranoid schizophrenics had trouble taking care of themselves. At that point, he’d been too out of it to care.

It had been exciting, on the day he and Annie left, to eat as much fast food as he could stomach. Burgers and chicken nuggets and fries, oh my.

It was all he’d eaten for days, and the appeal was wearing thin.

Annie wrinkled her nose while she pulled pieces of her burger off. In the end, she just picked out bits of meat and cheese to eat. He wished he had money for them to go to a nice restaurant; they’d agreed earlier that the Adbuddy was more trouble than it was worth.

He was about ready to change his mind on that.

“If you could have anything to eat,” he said, “anything at all, what would it be?”

“I don’t know,” she said distantly.

Keep trying, Owen. She’s in a funk. Try to pull her out. “I’d have cheesecake.”

No response.

“I’d have every topping I could,” he continued. “Whipped cream. Chocolate sauce. Nuts. Fruit.”

“A steak,” she said. “Or maybe a huge rack of ribs.”

“Funnel cake.”

“Mac and cheese.”

“Spaghetti.”

“Garlic bread,” she said, nearly groaning.

“Strawberry shortcake,” he sighed.

“I’m ready to get to Salt Lake City,” Annie said. “I’m ready to be done.”

Owen agreed, of course. He was ready to stop living out of a plastic bag of whatever they could carry around easily. He was ready for real food and sleeping in the same bed every night. He was ready to settle down in a home that he made for himself. Still, a part of him thought he would miss this. He had no idea what would happen once they arrived, so a part of him wanted to drag this out as far as it could go.

He popped a lukewarm french fry into his mouth. “Any big plans once we get there?”

“Find a job, I guess,” she said. “Avoid the drug scene.”

In all the time they’d been on the road, she hadn’t seemed to miss the drugs at all.

“We’ll have to find a place,” she continued, and Owen’s head shot up. “We’re pretty broke, so it’ll be crap, but it’ll be ours.”

“Right,” he said, voice a little choked. “It’ll be ours.”

He was ready to be done, through and through.


End file.
